


terrible am I, child? even if you don't mind.

by gutsandglitter



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen, one of these days I'm going to write a fic that's not 93 percent dialogue but today is not that day, pre-series and pre-relationship (although it can be read as just pre-friendship), tw: vague mention of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsandglitter/pseuds/gutsandglitter
Summary: It didn’t matter how many times she had been published in the major potions publications, how flawless her CV scroll was - she would always be known asMistress Broomhead’s star pupil. Any school that took her on would no doubt receive a considerable amount of flack from the media; most headmistresses would rather do anything than run the risk of sullying their own school’s good name.Then again, Ada Cackle had never really been like most headmistresses.





	terrible am I, child? even if you don't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to cassiopeiasara for giving me feedback on this one!

Ada had been following the case for months. It was hard not to - the editors of her daily newspaper seemed to find a way to squeeze something about it onto the front page at least three times a week. So after all that time, she had to admit she felt a small measure of relief when she saw the headline: 

**BROOMHEAD BEHIND BARS**

_Mistress Broomhead, found guilty on 23 separate charges of improper magic use against a minor, sentenced to life in prison on the basis of one former student’s testimony._

Ada thought it was curious that the photo accompanying the story was not one of Miss Broomhead, but of the former student climbing the steps to the courthouse. The caption below read: _Miss Hecate Hardbroom, age 35, on her way to deliver her damning testimony._ She was a striking woman - tall and slim, with cheekbones that looked as if they had been sculpted from marble, and dressed in the kind of high-necked gown that had gone out of fashion decades ago. She was holding her head high with a determined set to her jaw, glaring at the paparazzo taking the photograph. It was immediately apparent that if anyone could take down the fearsome Miss Broomhead, it was her.

But as Ada studied the picture, it was the woman’s eyes that caught her attention. For all of her sharpness, all of her performative coolness, you could still see a trace of fear. It was quiet and well-masked, but Ada got the distinct feeling that if even that much was seeping through the cracks in her facade, it meant she was absolutely terrified.

It was curious to think that the woman had been so afraid going in, because she had then proceeded to sit on the witness stand for nearly six hours straight, reliving the horrors of her childhood over and over again in lurid detail. Ada would have thought that voluntarily subjecting oneself to such a grueling experience would require fury, a kind of righteous indignation and passion for justice - in essence, a total absence of fear.

Not that Ada could blame her for being afraid - the testimony was a walk in the park compared to what happened afterwards. Though she had only been a child at the time, an innocent victim of someone who was supposed to have had her best interests at heart, she was now inexorably linked to one of the most horrific scandals of the century. It didn’t matter how many times she had been published in the major potions publications, how flawless her CV scroll was - she would always be known as _Mistress Broomhead’s star pupil_. Any school that took her on would no doubt receive a considerable amount of flack from the media; most headmistresses would rather do anything than run the risk of sullying their own school’s good name.

Then again, Ada Cackle had never really been like most headmistresses. She traced a fingernail over the photo caption, humming thoughtfully. _Hecate Hardbroom._

*****

After calling in a few favors with an old friend at _The Daily Snail_ , Ada was able to get an address for Miss Hardbroom. Since the trial she had apparently been trying (and failing) to lay low; according to Ada’s friend she was now staying in a rented cottage in the Cotswolds, just outside Bibury.

Ada was able to find the address well enough, though as she touched down at the end of the front walkway she wondered if her friend might have been incorrect. The cottage was nondescript, aging but not ramshackle, with what looked like the beginnings of an herb garden by the front door. It didn’t seem at all like the kind of place someone would go if they were seeking refuge from the world.

But then she spied a figure kneeling by the garden with their back turned, hunched over what appeared to be a cluster of mandrake seedlings.. Though Ada had only seen the one picture of the woman, the hair and clothing were unmistakable.

“Hecate Hardbroom?” she called. 

The woman froze, and Ada watched as she squared her shoulders. She looked as if she were preparing to be physically attacked.

“Who’s asking?” The woman still hadn’t turned to face her, and it sounded as if she was gritting her teeth.

Suddenly Ada wondered if this might not be such a good idea. She hadn’t considered the possibility of the woman becoming hostile. She cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of herself and donning her sweetest smile. “Ada Cackle. I’m the Headmistress of Cackle’s Academy.”

The woman snorted. She stripped off her gardening gloves and stood, drawing herself up to her full height. “That’s a new one,” she said, sneering. “Normally it’s just a delivery, or a lost tourist.” She folded her arms across her chest, somehow managing to make the gesture look defensive and menacing at the same time. “Who are you with then, the _Magical Enquirer_? Were you hoping for an exclusive interview, ten pages of me sniveling and sobbing? Or were you just planning on peering through my windows trying to get a good shot of me undressing?”

Ada’s heart lurched. How many people had darkened her door already looking for a good story, some piece of salacious gossip? She took a tentative step forward. “No. I’m here to offer you a teaching position at my school.”

This was quite obviously the last thing Hecate had expected to hear. She opened her mouth then closed it, appearing to think better of whatever snarky reply had been sitting on the edge of her tongue. She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Ada to continue. 

Ada took this as a good sign, or as close to a good sign as she was going to get. She took another few steps forward, feigning confidence. “I’m afraid that the pay isn’t really competitive, but you would have unfettered access to our potions supplies and you would not be expected to work outside of term time. You would have full control over your own curricula,” she added, trying to think of anything else that might sell her on the offer.

Hecate frowned, drumming her fingertips against her elbow. Ada must have passed whatever scrutiny she had been applying, because a moment later Hecate unfolded her arms. “Would you like to come inside?” she asked. She still sounded wary, but her tone had softened some. 

Ada took this as a small win.

*****

Though it was clear that Hecate had not had many visitors since she moved to the cottage, she kept the place meticulously tidy, with nary a dirty dish or abandoned novel to be seen. Her familiar was perched in the middle of the kitchen table, eyeing Ada with a skeptical glare that could have rivaled her owner’s.

As soon as the front door shut behind them, Hecate set about making tea. She seemed to be entirely focused on the task; Ada suspected that she was using it as an excuse to collect her bearings, so she sat herself at the table and waited patiently for her to finish. The cat made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat before jumping off the table and slinking into the next room.

The tea Hecate served was spicy, something rich and unfamiliar. When Ada inquired about it she said it was a blend she made herself using cuttings from her own garden. 

After a few minutes of stilted small talk, Hecate pursed her lips and looked down at her lap. “You didn’t come here to talk about tea.”

Ada nodded. “I didn’t,” she said, setting her cup back in its saucer. “I came to offer you a position at my school.”

Hecate furrowed her brow. “You said that. But why?”

Ada shrugged. “I’m in need of a new Potions Mistress.”

Hecate shifted, clearly uneasy. “You don’t...don’t read the papers, do you?”

“I do,” Ada said, aiming for a tone of nonchalance. “I’ve also read all of your publications and spoken to a number of your former colleagues, and it is quite clear that you would be an invaluable asset to Cackle’s Academy.”

“Yes, but Miss Cackle-”

“Ada.”

“Ada.” Hecate closed her eyes and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through her nose. “Surely you must understand what it would mean to take me on as a member of your staff. No parent is going to want to put their child in my care.” She kept her voice even, but it was clear that doing so required a lot of effort. 

A tiny burst of anger flared up in Ada’s chest. In terms of torment, it seemed as if the world had decided to pick up where Broomhead had left off. “You’ve committed no crime, nor have you given any indication that you are anything but a talented, brilliant educator.”

The apples of Hecate’s cheeks pinked at the compliment. Out of the corner of her eye, Ada could see her rubbing the tips of her index fingers against her thumbs. “That may be,” she said quietly. “But she taught me everything I know, from my chanting technique to my transference spells. No matter how much I try to reshape myself and my magic, there’s always going to be that tiny part of her in me. And that, that frightens people.” She looked away. “It frightens me, if I’m honest.” 

Ada paused for a moment, considering her next words. She hadn’t intended to ask the question, but now she needed to know the answer.

“Why did you testify?”

Hecate blinked. “What?”

“At the trial. Why did you testify? You were under no obligation to do it. You must have known the potential consequences, and yet you did it anyway. Why?”

Hecate pursed her lips into a thin, fuschia line and looked away again. She was silent for several seconds, and for a moment Ada wondered if she was going to ask her to leave. 

“Because no one else would,” she said, finally. She flexed her hands in her lap, stretching them out before balling them back into fists. “Her other students. Everything happened so long ago, there was almost no remaining physical evidence. The authorities said that without testimony from one of us, there was a good chance she might go free.”

She continued to wring her hands in her lap, twisting them and digging the nails into her skin. Ada had to stop herself from reaching out to cover them with her own. 

Hecate’s next words came out in a rush, as if the dam holding everything back had broken wide open. “The defense said that she is the way she is because she was bitten by a bat as a child and that may well be true, but,” she fixed Ada with a wide, imploring stare, “you have to understand, she’s like no other witch I’ve ever known. There’s something wrong inside of her, something not human. If she were allowed to go free, she absolutely would have found a way to continue her experiments. And I just...couldn’t let that happen.”

Ada nodded. She had been hoping that was the answer, while fearing it at the same time. “You sacrificed yourself to protect others from having to go through what you did.”

Hecate frowned and leaned back in her chair. “I suppose. But wouldn’t anyone?” it was a genuine question, as if she were completely unable to comprehend any other option. 

Ada shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face. “I’m afraid not. And that is exactly why I want you to work at Cackle’s. I can’t imagine anyone I’d feel more comfortable entrusting my students’ safety with.”

It was true - now that Ada had met Hecate, she couldn’t dream of hiring anyone else. In the years since she had become headmistress, she had grown to dread interviewing new applicants. It seemed as time wore on, the old adage those who can’t do, teach became more and more of a reality. To find someone so passionate, so dedicated to both her students and the Craft, felt like nothing short of a miracle. 

Hecate considered her for a long moment before shaking her head in quiet disbelief. “You’re really willing to risk your school’s reputation, for me?” Her skepticism seemed to be fading into something that sounded like a guarded form of hope, which in turn gave Ada hope as well.

She nodded. “I really am.” 

Hecate looked back down at her hands, which had stilled. A beam of late summer sunlight trickled in through the window, softening her features and illuminating a few strands of hair that had slipped from her tight plait. As she considered her answer, Ada realized she would be devastated if she said no, though she didn’t quite know why.

She stood, smoothing the front of her jumper. It wouldn’t do any good for her to sit and stare at Hecate while she considered the offer. Moreover, if she refused the job, Ada didn’t want her to see the disappointment on her own face. It was clear that she already carried an obscene amount of guilt on her slim shoulders, and Ada didn’t want to add to that in any way. “I understand it isn’t an easy decision to make, so I’ll leave you to think on it. You can reach me by mirror at the school once you’ve decided.”

She turned on heel and began to make her way to the front door. Just as her fingertips brushed the glass doorknob, she heard the legs of Hecate’s chair scrape across the floor.

“I’ll do it.”

Ada started, believing for a moment that she must have misheard. She turned back to Hecate, who fixed her with a shy smile.

“When do I start?”


End file.
